Rage and Reputation
by illuminata79
Summary: Things have turned out very well for Alice Cleaver, Mick's mother, after remarrying - only her relationship with Mick remains problematic and hits a low point when he gets into trouble at school.


Mick's relationship with his mother Alice has been troubled ever since her remarriage, and things haven't exactly improved as he grew older. Alice feels she is losing the son she loves so much, but she just can't find the right tone with him. A conflict at school finally leads to a disastrous incident at home.

The story is told (mainly) from Alice's point of view, but the title song that I picked is for Mick. (I don't think Alice is quite as bad as the lyrics might imply, but it's certainly how Mick feels about her).

The song is "Perfect" by Alanis Morissette, from her "Jagged Little Pill" album.

_Sometimes is never quite enough  
>If you're flawless, then you'll win my love<br>Don't forget to win first place  
>Don't forget to keep that smile on your face<em>

_Be a good boy  
>Try a little harder<br>You've got to measure up  
>And make me prouder<em>

_How long before you screw it up  
>How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up<br>With everything I do for you  
>The least you can do is keep quiet<em>

_Be a good girl  
>You've gotta try a little harder<br>That simply wasn't good enough  
>To make us proud<em>

_I'll live through you  
>I'll make you what I never was<br>If you're the best, then maybe so am I  
>Compared to him compared to her<br>I'm doing this for your own damn good  
>You'll make up for what I blew<br>What's the problem ... why are you crying?_

_Be a good boy  
>Push a little farther now<br>That wasn't fast enough  
>To make us happy<br>We'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect_

* * *

><p>Two sets of little feet were rushing down the stairs noisily a moment before the front door opened. Alice, sitting at her antique desk in the living room to write a to-do list for the upcoming church summer festival she was helping organise, smiled to herself. Every day, Jess and Janie keenly awaited their brother's return from school, eagerly watching the road from their bedroom window to dash downstairs as soon as he turned the corner and greet him joyfully when he came in.<p>

The living-room door was open, and she could see the hall from where she sat. Mick entered the house with the usual solemn look on his face that brightened immediately as the girls flung themselves at him. "Mick! Mick!" both of them squealed, and he dropped his schoolbag, hugged Jess against his hip and picked up Janie, who happily wrapped her plump little arms around his neck and smacked a wet kiss on his cheek.

Alice watched the lovely scene wistfully. It was sweet to see Mick getting along with his sisters so well, but she felt a pang of regret remembering the time when he had been a cuddly, chattering little boy himself. It seemed to have been only yesterday and yet so long gone. She got up to stand in the doorframe.

Mick set Janie down, picked up his bag and walked towards the stairs, the girls in tow, acknowledging Alice's presence with a cursory greeting, barely stopping to answer "All right" when she asked how his day had been, in that new, strangely masculine voice.

Those monosyllabic answers weren't unusual, but they always carried an air of rejection that stung, confirming the sinking feeling that her beautiful firstborn, the son she loved so much in a way that was entirely different from the love for her daughters because he was Henry's child, a precious legacy she must never lose, had become a stranger.

The loss of his beloved father had changed five-year-old Mick significantly. He had still been cheerful and chatty at times, but much more often he had appeared too pensive for his age, silently retreating into his thoughts without letting her in on what was on his mind, withdrawing into himself, into a place where she couldn't reach him.

Her decision to marry Dan and move away with him seemed to have tipped the scales against her even more. She had sensed it would be hard on Mick to leave his grandparents behind, but she had hoped that he would accommodate to the new circumstances quickly, as children usually did.

She had been proved wrong, this one did not. With all the defiance and determination of a ten-year-old, he had dug in his heels when they were about to leave, and he had stubbornly remained unimpressed by all the riches the new home had to offer, except perhaps for his collection of books and his piano lessons, and he never seemed to have forgiven her for dragging him away from what he loved.

He was happiest when he could be with his grandparents, while her own relationship with her parents had become rather strained since she had moved away. They hadn't been too enthusiastic about her liaison with the young doctor, and after the bad quarrel she'd had with her father when he had accused her of having turned snobbish and shallow, things had never been the same between them. This development made it particularly painful to witness Mick's sheer excitement and joy whenever the summer holidays approached and he would be going back to spend some weeks with his grandpa and grandma by the sea or to see the afterglow of those visits on his suntanned face when he returned. He seemed to regard his grandparents as his actual family, putting up more or less willingly with everyday life in Missouri and his mother and stepfather until the next trip to Maine.

As he grew older, the episodes of vociferous protest that had marked his early adolescence had given way to brooding reticence with the rare volcanic tantrum. Compared to her friends' sons, she had to say that he behaved rather politely for a teenager, he didn't complain much about helping around the house if the need arose or about looking after Jess and Janie, but he didn't speak much with her and Dan, and the hugs and kisses he dutifully gave her had a perfunctory feel to them. If she dared ask him what was troubling his heart at a certain time, he always claimed that he was okay, even if it was plain to see that he was not.

He broke away from her anxiously watchful mother's eyes every chance that he got, staying out as long as he could without getting into trouble. Sometimes she wondered what he was doing all the time he was away. She knew he mostly went down to the river to read, to run along the banks or to swim, but was that enough for a boy his age?

He would be sixteen in October, and it was strange to see that his slim body had almost changed into that of a man. He was still lithe and slender, with narrow hips and a fine, sensitive face, but his shoulders had grown broader and his limbs more muscular. He was at least as tall as his father had been and generally very much like Henry in his appearance with his father's intense green eyes, fair but quickly tanning skin and dark curly hair.

Henry had been about that age when she fell in love with him.

Her first love, and, she sometimes thought, her only true love.

She loved Dan, too, but it was a different kind of feeling, grown-up, reasonable, respectful, caring - yes, even passionate at times. Yet she missed that surge of sheer joy that she had always felt the moment Henry walked into the room, that easy understanding without words, those moments of laughing their heads off together at something only they found funny. She had admired his reckless streak and his bold ideas, even though – or maybe just because – she lacked those characteristics entirely.

Dan was much more sensible and rational and much less imaginative and fun-loving, but also a kind and thoughtful man, a highly respected and able physician, a doting husband and father, not only to the girls but, as far as the boy allowed him, also to Mick. He was generous with his affection and with his money, too. She had everything she needed, she could have anything she wanted, and due to his special place in the town's society she had gained a certain standing quickly, made friends, played a very active part in the local community and church, and even her dream of a larger family had come true.

Jessica had been born three weeks early in September 1924, after a long and laborious delivery that had left Alice very weak for a long time. She later learned that it had been a very close call for mother and child. Still she had wanted more children, and a mere sixteen months later, Jane arrived. This time it was a quick and easy birth and she had been back on her feet in no time, happy that the two little girls were thriving and that Mick had fallen in love with his baby sisters the very first moment he had seen them.

These days she was always busy with the children and the household and the voluntary work she did in the local community. Occasionally, she stopped for a moment to marvel at what a long way she had come from the fishing village on the coast of Maine and the little house she and Henry had shared. She enjoyed not having to think about every penny she spent, dressing elegantly, being well respected despite her young age, but sometimes it felt hollow. It was not something she had achieved of her own account. She and Henry had had to work hard together to build their modest home, while her present comfortable situation was based entirely on Dan's wealth and status.

She usually brushed those considerations aside quickly. She didn't want to be ungrateful.

But sometimes all that Dan could give her was not enough. Because he was not Henry.

Eleven years had passed since she had received the telegram. Eleven years of missing him.

She had foolishly hoped that Mick would grow up to be exactly like him. He bore this uncanny, stunning resemblance to his father at the same age, but while Henry used to be the centre of an exuberant and somewhat raucous gang of boys in constant pursuit of entertainment, playing sports, going out to dance, flirting, easily winning over the village girls' hearts with their roguish charm, Mick preferred to keep to himself. He had a few friends, but they didn't meet much outside school. He was always on the sidelines, always watching the others from outside, always detached, keeping his distance, never seeming to open up to anyone.

Alice returned to her desk, trying to concentrate on her list again, crossing off some items, adding others. She was almost finished when the doorbell rang. Walking across the hall, she could hear the girls giggling upstairs. "Once more, Mick!" Jess shouted, breaking into another fit of laughter.

Alice opened the door and was startled to see the pink full-moon face of Edgar Bartlett, one of Mick's teachers. From his earnest look, she knew that this was no courtesy call.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bartlett", she said, hoping her tension wasn't showing too much.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cleaver", he replied in a polite but worried tone. "I am very sorry to disturb you at home, but I need to have a word with you about your son."

Alice's heart sank. "What is it, Mr. Bartlett?"

"I think it is something we should not be discussing on the doorstep, Mrs. Cleaver."

Alice felt herself blush. "Of course. Please come in." She led him through into the living room and offered him a seat on the sofa while she perched on the edge of an armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

The teacher cleared his throat and began, "Mrs. Cleaver, I have always been very fond of Michael. He is a little too solitary if you ask me, but he's a very bright boy and his grades have been reasonably good all the time. I do think that he might have achieved even more if he tried just a little bit harder, though."

He paused, and Alice wondered why he hadn't simply written her a note asking her to see him at the school to discuss Mick's performance. Before she could ask, Bartlett went on: "But I'm diverging. That's not why I have come here. I'm not sure if you are aware that there has been a very regrettable incident during recess today."

She thought of Mick's extremely laconic greeting and just how fast he had disappeared upstairs with the girls. It had seemed a bit fishy to her, but she had put it down to teenage petulance. She shook her head in apprehension. "No, I haven't heard anything. What was it? A fight?"

"You could say so. To be precise, and I'm very sorry to say that, Michael seriously injured another boy."

Alice swallowed hard. "Wh … what happened?"

"I don't know exactly what happened and why, and it struck me as strange because he has never resorted to violence before and is usually very good at solving conflicts with his peers verbally, but today he lunged at Lawrence Dillon like a madman, slammed him into a wall and hit him so hard in the face that Lawrence will be very lucky if his nose isn't broken. It was quite frightening to watch and it went so fast that nobody could have seen it coming, let alone prevented it."

All colour drained from Alice's cheeks. The teacher was correct in that this was absolutely unlike Mick. Why had he lost his temper so badly? And with the Dillon boy, of all people. The family had moved into town just a few months ago and all of them – mother, father and two sons - were reckoned haughty and quarrelsome. Mr. Dillon was a lawyer, a prosecutor at the local court with a reputation for unforgiving severity, and a litigious character.

Bartlett noticed her shock and said in a reassuring tone, "I think Lawrence will recover fully, but I wanted to let you know what happened before it's all around the town, and I would like to ask you to have a serious word with your son about that incident. Schoolyard brawls happen, if we like it or not, but I do not wish to have any of my students smashing other people's noses deliberately, particularly not someone like Michael who should be wiser than that. As this was a first, I just gave him a talking-to and no formal punishment, but I'll have to take some stricter disciplinary measures next time."

Alice found herself nodding stupidly, then regained her usual composure and replied firmly, "Rest assured that it will not happen again, Mr. Bartlett. Thank you for informing me."

"Don't mention it. I wasn't sure if Michael would tell you, and I thought it would be better if you heard it from me and not from Lawrence's parents or someone else."

After Mr. Bartlett had left, she stood in the hall for a moment, taking deep breaths, then she straightened up and climbed the stairs determinedly.

Upstairs, Mick was crawling along the corridor on all fours with Janie riding on his back, her small hands in his hair, whooping and kicking his sides with her naked little feet, and Jess patting him on the backside to make him go faster. Under normal circumstances the cute little scene would have made Alice smile again, but she was too angry and disappointed to appreciate it.

"Mick! We need to talk!" she called out sharply from the landing. He stopped in his tracks abruptly, looking around in surprise. Janie teetered on his back, and he quickly caught her and set her down on the floor safely before he got up, black curls tangled and messy, his shirt untucked at the back.

"Girls, you go and play in your room for a while." Jess pulled a face, and Alice quickly said, "No buts, Jessica. Do as you are told. Take Janie with you. And you come with me, Mick."

The girls scuttled off, cowed by their mother's severe tone, and Mick followed his mother downstairs sullenly without speaking a word. Alice closed the living-room door behind them and faced her son. "I just had a visit from Mr. Bartlett", she said in a cold voice. "He came to tell me what happened at school today."

He looked back at her freely, unflinchingly. "Did he."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you think I should say?" he asked, raising a questioning eyebrow, his hands buried in his pockets, infuriatingly noncommittal.

"I want to know why on earth you go about attacking people all of a sudden! Is that what we brought you up to do, solve problems with your fists? And Lawrence Dillon, of all boys! Breaking his nose! What have you been thinking? We can be glad if his father doesn't sue us for damages! To say nothing of the gossip in town! Dr. Cleaver's stepson, the schoolyard bully! What a disgrace, Mick! Think of Dan's reputation at least, if you don't care about your own!"

"The disgrace! Our reputation! The gossip in town!" Mick spat out scornfully, mimicking her tone with cruel perfection. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"First and foremost I'm concerned about your future, my dear. You don't want to get expelled from school for misbehaving, do you?"

"I don't care if I get expelled!" he shouted. "I'm fed up with school anyway! I'd rather leave sooner than later if you really want to know!"

"Hold it! You're not going to leave school on a whim. You're not throwing away your chance at a good education!"

"Why? Because you're afraid I won't be allowed to go to college and become a doctor or a lawyer or something else you and your posh friends would be proud of?" He sneered brazenly.

"Watch your mouth, young man!" she hissed, her fists opening and closing helplessly at her sides.

"What if I want to be something you can't show off with?"

"_Mick!_"

"Something like a fisherman? But no, that's too humble for the doctor's stepson! What would all the fancy ladies in town think of that?" His finely arched eyebrows shot up in mock horror, his voice was dripping with derision, his eyes flashing sparks of green fire. "It might even lead them to discover that Mrs. Cleaver is the daughter of a fisherman herself!"

A red-hot wave of rage swept over her at that sheer display of impertinence. She slapped Mick's flushed cheek with her open palm and struck him again across the mouth with the back of her hand. He gave an unarticulated cry and stumbled backwards, bumping into the sofa. The armrest hit him in the hollows of his knees and he fell back on the seat but jumped right back up, barging from the room. She heard him bounding up the stairs, then the door of his room slammed shut so violently that the glasses in the living-room cabinet rattled.

Normally she would have gone after him to scold him. Instead, she crumpled into the armchair, trembling, her hands clapped to her mouth, appalled at herself. She had never lost control with her children like that. Mick had been outrageously rude before and she had never let it get to her so much that she hit him.

She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the undignified scene that kept repeating in her head, making her nauseous. The sickening smack of the second blow. That look mingling incredulous shock, unforgiving rage, utter disgust and wounded pride, darkening Mick's eyes the moment he staggered back.

"Mommy!" a high-pitched voice called from upstairs. When Alice didn't reply, Jess came banging down the stairs and plodded into the living-room.

"Mommy? Are you crying?" she asked in disbelief, casting a wary glance at her mother. Alice hastily wiped a hand over her face and didn't answer.

"Mommy, where's Mick? And why are you bleeding?"

Alice stared at her blankly for a moment. Jess pointed at her right hand. The hand that wore the sapphire ring Dan had given her for their fifth wedding anniversary. The ring whose cool sparkling blue was smeared with red now. Her hand went to her mouth again for a second.

"It's nothing, love", she lied. "I must have grazed my finger somewhere."

"Where's Mick gone, Mommy?" Jess insisted. "Janie wants to play horse and rider again, but he's not there."

"Your brother has been behaving very badly and I told him off for it, so maybe he's still angry and wants to stay in his room for a while. Why don't you and Janie play with your dollhouse?"

"The dolls have been bad little girls and aren't allowed to come out to play", Jess retorted earnestly. "And Mick isn't in his room. We can't find him."

"Where else would he be? I heard him run upstairs and he hasn't come down since."

"He's not upstairs any more."

"Jess, he can't be anywhere else. I would have seen him if he'd come downstairs."

"No, Mommy! He's. Not. There!" Jess shouted, now visibly distressed.

"Jessica, don't make such a fuss. He might just have gone to the bathroom."

"But me and Janie, we've looked in the bathroom and in your bedroom and everywhere else. Even in the attic."

Jess appeared truly scared now, which convinced Alice that she was not playing one of her fantasy games with her. She ran upstairs, frantically opening doors and calling Mick's name, up into the attic, back downstairs. Nothing. Nowhere.

She had no idea how much time had passed with their panicky, frenzied search. Exhausted, she leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs, panting, trying to think straight. She ran a nervous hand through her hair that had long before come loose from its neat bun. Dan. She needed to get Dan. But she couldn't go out on the street looking the mess she did. She couldn't leave the girls alone in their frightened and disturbed state. Senseless scraps of thoughts were swirling in her head.

Jess and Janie were still roaming the upstairs rooms, unable to sit still. There was a sudden commotion, a bang, Jess's stern voice berating her sister, a gasp of surprise, then both of them came hurtling down the stairs. Janie almost missed a step and tumbled towards Alice who instinctively caught her before she fell.

The three-year-old held out her hand and cried, "Look what we found, Mommy!"

"It was tucked under your bedside lamp, Mommy", Jess added from above. "It's from Mick, isn't it?"

Alice took the piece of lined paper that Janie's little fist had crumpled in one corner. A note scribbled in a familiar bold boyish longhand, on a page ripped from an exercise book.

Icy fingers seemed to tighten around her heart.

Black spots were dancing before her eyes.

She swayed and gripped the banister to steady herself. She must not faint in front of the girls.

"Take your sister upstairs, Jessica", she said tonelessly.

"But Mommy…", Jess began.

"Go!" Alice shouted. "Just go without making a fuss for once!"

Startled by the fierce outburst, Jess grabbed Janie by the hand and hurried off with her.

Alice sat down on the stairs, willing herself to read through the blur of tears that filled her eyes.

_Mom,_

_I'm on my way to Maine__. Don't try to make me come back. I wouldn't live up to your expectations anyway._

_Kiss the girls for me and tell them I'll write._

_I'm sorry and I love you, but I can't live here any longer._

_M._

The paper fluttered from her hands as she doubled over, racked by dry sobs, foreign, outlandish sounds that echoed through the staircase and scared the girls who clung to each other in their bedroom in frightened confusion.

She didn't see the afterthought he had written on the back of the note.

_O__ne last thing, in case you want to know– Dillon said I was a bastard and called you and Dad even worse things. I hit him to defend your reputation._

* * *

><p>A few miles away, the 7.30 to St. Louis had just left the station. The train was packed, and nobody took much notice of the tall youth with a brown leather schoolbag held in his lap, except for the elderly lady in the opposite seat who offered him a fresh handkerchief to wipe a bit of blood from a small but deep gash above his upper lip. He had accepted it, thanked her very politely and gave her a beautiful smile. When she asked him what had happened to his face, he said, "Just a silly little accident. Nothing, really."<p>

Something in his eyes told a different story, but she felt she should not ask.


End file.
